Title: Preying Mantis
Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.
Author: Nuclearjane
Author's Note: The hotel and motel are totally made up, as will be some other stuff. This is my first try at a murder scene.
Summary: Gil and Catherine investigate a murder in a seedy hotel room.
Rating: R
Spoiler(s): Don't know yet.
Jim Brass stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor of the Stargazer Motel. He watched the Black Denali pull into the lot. Grissom and Willows exited the vehicle, retrieved their kits from the back and approached him.
"Gil, Catherine, Hey." Brass greeted as they neared.
"Hey, Jim." Catherine returned. Grissom merely acknowledged him with a nod and glance before focusing on the open door above them; crime scene tape was already in place.
"We've got one victim - unidentified, white male, middle-aged, multiple stab wounds to the chest. I didn't go in since I knew you would be arriving soon. Manager found him around midnight. It seems the TV was a bit loud for the folks next door. They said it came on around 10:30. They waited a while, thinking it would be turned off then called in a complaint. The room was rented to a Vanessa Thomas; we're trying to locate her now." He informed as they mounted the steps to the doorway.
Grissom stood in the door, studying the scene. He noted the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the handle. "The TV isn't all that loud. Sure the manager didn't turn it down?" He asked.
"He said he shut the door and high-tailed back to his office to call 911." Brass replied.
Grissom turned to the banister, studying the surrounding area and dryly commented. "Whoever did this is still nearby."
"What makes you think that?" Brass inquired.
"He wasn't supposed to be found, yet. Maybe this afternoon or tomorrow, but not tonight. Time. To put some distance between the killer and victim, maybe." Catherine surmised, after examining the scene herself. A grim little smile and slight nod to the affirmative from Grissom confirmed her assessment. She observed his stance; he was lightly tapping the fingers of his right hand on the railing. "What's he thinking?" She wondered. She followed his lead and studied the surrounding area. Cars were nestled in parking places for the night, dimly lit by a couple of streetlights. Beyond that, darkness, an empty lot, then a five-story hotel from Old Vegas; 'The Magness', stood a block away.
"Jim, it might be worth our while to stop any cars leaving here or there." He indicated The Magness. "Check identification. See if anything shakes loose."
"Ah, The Magness, I hear the owner was once well connected. All sorts of 'honest, church-going' mid-western bankers, lawyers, and doctors, wrote off nights to 'The Ranch' and such on their hotel bill." Brass replied, referring to the brothel located outside the city limits.
"That was 'Old Vegas' and John Marshal died, years ago." Grissom informed. John Marshal had been murdered but he hadn't been able to prove who did it. His two disreputable, under-achieving sons had quickly sold The Magness and lived a hedonistic lifestyle, until the money ran out. He'd investigated each of their murders, to no solid conclusion, as well.
"I'll get back with you when we find out some info on the woman who rented the room." Brass responded and moved off to issue orders to his men.
"Shall we?" Grissom asked Catherine, shaking off the reverie that had occupied him for the past few moments.
"The night's not getting any younger." She replied. "It's almost 2, we'll be lucky to get this scene processed by end of shift." They each snapped on latex gloves. He picked up his kit, and placed his hand at the small of her back as they entered the room.
First, they observed the body. The man lay on the bed, naked; multiple stab wounds covered his torso. His blood soaked the bedding. A large, generic kitchen knife lay on the pillow next to him. It was apparent to both of them that sex was probably involved. Lights off, a search with the ALS offered no sign of fresh body fluids, other than his blood in the bed. Lights back on; the tedious documentation of the scene began. Catherine snapped photographs after placing markers. Grissom searched through the detritus of the room, a day-old newspaper and flyers advertising various Vegas amusements and casinos. A six-pack of Sierra Nevada Summerfest microbrew, in a trashcan with no bag; the ice surrounding it was nearly melted, one bottle was missing. The man's clothing lay beside the bed; it contained no wallet; but, a money clip and a UNLV ID, were in a front pocket.
"Robbery was; apparently, not the motive. Mr. Frank Leland, here, has a couple hundred dollars and a UNLV ID; I'll inform Jim." Grissom stated as he carefully bagged the items.
"Gil, this had to be personal." Catherine said when he returned, as she surveyed the numbered tacks placed by various blood spatters on the wall to identify close-ups of individual drops. He didn't answer. He searched through the drawers, found them empty, then checked out the bathroom.
"Nothing here. A woman checked in; why isn't any of her stuff present? There are no clothes or makeup. The bathroom is clean and appears unused. Looks like some towels are missing, only one towel in there." He pondered as he re-entered the main room.
"No trash bag in that trash can. Perhaps, the killer cleaned up with a couple of towels. Stuffed it all in a trash bag and escaped." He theorized.
"Gil, whoever did this had to be covered in blood." She paused in her photography, joined him at the foot of the bed and noted. "Why aren't there bloody footprints? I mean, there aren't blood drops, anywhere, other than the bed." She gestured to the area between the bed and bathroom to intensify her point.
"Hmmpft, He said." Grissom responded, clearly stumped. Catherine giggled.
"We'll have to see what the evidence tells us. I don't know what else to say." He shrugged.
Riiight!" She smirked.
"Hey, I got your page." Greg said from the door.
"Greg. Good." Grissom greeted. "Finger prints, Greg; there'll be a million of them. Good practice for you. Start at the dresser and work your way toward the bathroom." He instructed as he thought. "Where I can keep a close eye on you."
David arrived, minutes later; they processed the body and he removed it. Grissom, satisfied that Greg was proficient at finger printing, left him to the task and began processing the bathroom. Catherine bagged the bedding and photographed the bare, blood soaked mattress. She finished photographing the blood spatter on the wall and ceiling directly above the bed, then helped Greg.
"Greg?" Grissom inquired as he finished with the bathroom, noting they were nearly finished.
"Yeah." He answered.
"Have you ever gone dumpster diving?" Grissom asked, a tiny smile twitching about his lips.
"Once, when my roommate threw away half of my term paper." Greg replied uneasily.
"Well then, now, you have another opportunity. Dumpster diving is an unsavory, but necessary evil in the life of all Criminalists." He informed with a slight smirk and wink at Catherine.
"Why me?" Greg whined, realizing he was trapped.
"Because, being boss has it's privileges and Catherine is riding with me. Off to the Dumpster, with you, young man!" Grissom gestured toward the door.
A few minutes later....
"I just got these shoes!" Greg grumbled as he prepared to enter the smelly bin of refuse.
"Greggo, in the future, don't wear new shoes to work." Grissom sagely advised.
"What, exactly, am I looking for?" Greg grimaced as he gingerly lowered himself inside.
"Trash bag, containing bloody towels or other stuff, of a similar ilk." He replied.
Catherine quelled a giggle and decided it was a good time to appear occupied, lest Greg require assistance with his efforts. She didn't doubt, for a moment, that Grissom would send her in after their hapless pupil; should he flounder, then remand her to Greg's vehicle for the return trip to the lab. She trained her flashlight on the ground and moved away in ever widening circles in search of anything that might relate to the case.
"There's nothing here, Grissom." Greg stated appearing a bit wilted at the edge of the bin.
"Okay, that's enough. Let's get back to the lab." Grissom responded. The sun was on the horizon as they left.
TBC
Disclaimer: These guys don't belong to me.
Author: Nuclearjane
Author's Note: The hotel and motel are totally made up, as will be some other stuff. This is my first try at a murder scene.
Summary: Gil and Catherine investigate a murder in a seedy hotel room.
Rating: R
Spoiler(s): Don't know yet.
Jim Brass stood at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor of the Stargazer Motel. He watched the Black Denali pull into the lot. Grissom and Willows exited the vehicle, retrieved their kits from the back and approached him.
"Gil, Catherine, Hey." Brass greeted as they neared.
"Hey, Jim." Catherine returned. Grissom merely acknowledged him with a nod and glance before focusing on the open door above them; crime scene tape was already in place.
"We've got one victim - unidentified, white male, middle-aged, multiple stab wounds to the chest. I didn't go in since I knew you would be arriving soon. Manager found him around midnight. It seems the TV was a bit loud for the folks next door. They said it came on around 10:30. They waited a while, thinking it would be turned off then called in a complaint. The room was rented to a Vanessa Thomas; we're trying to locate her now." He informed as they mounted the steps to the doorway.
Grissom stood in the door, studying the scene. He noted the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the handle. "The TV isn't all that loud. Sure the manager didn't turn it down?" He asked.
"He said he shut the door and high-tailed back to his office to call 911." Brass replied.
Grissom turned to the banister, studying the surrounding area and dryly commented. "Whoever did this is still nearby."
"What makes you think that?" Brass inquired.
"He wasn't supposed to be found, yet. Maybe this afternoon or tomorrow, but not tonight. Time. To put some distance between the killer and victim, maybe." Catherine surmised, after examining the scene herself. A grim little smile and slight nod to the affirmative from Grissom confirmed her assessment. She observed his stance; he was lightly tapping the fingers of his right hand on the railing. "What's he thinking?" She wondered. She followed his lead and studied the surrounding area. Cars were nestled in parking places for the night, dimly lit by a couple of streetlights. Beyond that, darkness, an empty lot, then a five-story hotel from Old Vegas; 'The Magness', stood a block away.
"Jim, it might be worth our while to stop any cars leaving here or there." He indicated The Magness. "Check identification. See if anything shakes loose."
"Ah, The Magness, I hear the owner was once well connected. All sorts of 'honest, church-going' mid-western bankers, lawyers, and doctors, wrote off nights to 'The Ranch' and such on their hotel bill." Brass replied, referring to the brothel located outside the city limits.
"That was 'Old Vegas' and John Marshal died, years ago." Grissom informed. John Marshal had been murdered but he hadn't been able to prove who did it. His two disreputable, under-achieving sons had quickly sold The Magness and lived a hedonistic lifestyle, until the money ran out. He'd investigated each of their murders, to no solid conclusion, as well.
"I'll get back with you when we find out some info on the woman who rented the room." Brass responded and moved off to issue orders to his men.
"Shall we?" Grissom asked Catherine, shaking off the reverie that had occupied him for the past few moments.
"The night's not getting any younger." She replied. "It's almost 2, we'll be lucky to get this scene processed by end of shift." They each snapped on latex gloves. He picked up his kit, and placed his hand at the small of her back as they entered the room.
First, they observed the body. The man lay on the bed, naked; multiple stab wounds covered his torso. His blood soaked the bedding. A large, generic kitchen knife lay on the pillow next to him. It was apparent to both of them that sex was probably involved. Lights off, a search with the ALS offered no sign of fresh body fluids, other than his blood in the bed. Lights back on; the tedious documentation of the scene began. Catherine snapped photographs after placing markers. Grissom searched through the detritus of the room, a day-old newspaper and flyers advertising various Vegas amusements and casinos. A six-pack of Sierra Nevada Summerfest microbrew, in a trashcan with no bag; the ice surrounding it was nearly melted, one bottle was missing. The man's clothing lay beside the bed; it contained no wallet; but, a money clip and a UNLV ID, were in a front pocket.
"Robbery was; apparently, not the motive. Mr. Frank Leland, here, has a couple hundred dollars and a UNLV ID; I'll inform Jim." Grissom stated as he carefully bagged the items.
"Gil, this had to be personal." Catherine said when he returned, as she surveyed the numbered tacks placed by various blood spatters on the wall to identify close-ups of individual drops. He didn't answer. He searched through the drawers, found them empty, then checked out the bathroom.
"Nothing here. A woman checked in; why isn't any of her stuff present? There are no clothes or makeup. The bathroom is clean and appears unused. Looks like some towels are missing, only one towel in there." He pondered as he re-entered the main room.
"No trash bag in that trash can. Perhaps, the killer cleaned up with a couple of towels. Stuffed it all in a trash bag and escaped." He theorized.
"Gil, whoever did this had to be covered in blood." She paused in her photography, joined him at the foot of the bed and noted. "Why aren't there bloody footprints? I mean, there aren't blood drops, anywhere, other than the bed." She gestured to the area between the bed and bathroom to intensify her point.
"Hmmpft, He said." Grissom responded, clearly stumped. Catherine giggled.
"We'll have to see what the evidence tells us. I don't know what else to say." He shrugged.
Riiight!" She smirked.
"Hey, I got your page." Greg said from the door.
"Greg. Good." Grissom greeted. "Finger prints, Greg; there'll be a million of them. Good practice for you. Start at the dresser and work your way toward the bathroom." He instructed as he thought. "Where I can keep a close eye on you."
David arrived, minutes later; they processed the body and he removed it. Grissom, satisfied that Greg was proficient at finger printing, left him to the task and began processing the bathroom. Catherine bagged the bedding and photographed the bare, blood soaked mattress. She finished photographing the blood spatter on the wall and ceiling directly above the bed, then helped Greg.
"Greg?" Grissom inquired as he finished with the bathroom, noting they were nearly finished.
"Yeah." He answered.
"Have you ever gone dumpster diving?" Grissom asked, a tiny smile twitching about his lips.
"Once, when my roommate threw away half of my term paper." Greg replied uneasily.
"Well then, now, you have another opportunity. Dumpster diving is an unsavory, but necessary evil in the life of all Criminalists." He informed with a slight smirk and wink at Catherine.
"Why me?" Greg whined, realizing he was trapped.
"Because, being boss has it's privileges and Catherine is riding with me. Off to the Dumpster, with you, young man!" Grissom gestured toward the door.
A few minutes later....
"I just got these shoes!" Greg grumbled as he prepared to enter the smelly bin of refuse.
"Greggo, in the future, don't wear new shoes to work." Grissom sagely advised.
"What, exactly, am I looking for?" Greg grimaced as he gingerly lowered himself inside.
"Trash bag, containing bloody towels or other stuff, of a similar ilk." He replied.
Catherine quelled a giggle and decided it was a good time to appear occupied, lest Greg require assistance with his efforts. She didn't doubt, for a moment, that Grissom would send her in after their hapless pupil; should he flounder, then remand her to Greg's vehicle for the return trip to the lab. She trained her flashlight on the ground and moved away in ever widening circles in search of anything that might relate to the case.
"There's nothing here, Grissom." Greg stated appearing a bit wilted at the edge of the bin.
"Okay, that's enough. Let's get back to the lab." Grissom responded. The sun was on the horizon as they left.
TBC